


The X-Tra X

by ChaosKirin



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Genetic Disorders & Abnormalities, Genetics, News Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 05:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18514843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosKirin/pseuds/ChaosKirin
Summary: Roger's always been a bit of a mystery. A press tabloid has learned quite the secret about him, and it's up to Brian to keep it from getting out.





	The X-Tra X

There were scars on Roger's chest.   
  
Two of them.  
  
Brian noticed them early on, before Queen was even a dream in the mind of Freddie Mercury. And, given Brian's relative stupidity about such things--which he'd readily admitted over the years--he thought it best not to ask. 

As far as anyone knew, _no one_ asked. Or if they had, Roger's temper taught them never to ask again, and to completely ignore the implications of what it could have meant.

Implications.

Brian knew Roger was scared. It's why he resolved never to question anything. What did it matter, anyway? Queen had the best drummer ever, in the whole world--at least according to Queen--which meant that whatever secret Roger kept meant precisely nothing. And here they were, a hundred years later, sitting in a hotel bar after wrapping up a tour.

"That's it. That's the end," Roger said.

Brian ordered them another round. Roger remained surprisingly sober. Then again, he could knock back quite a few before he showed any signs of drunkenness.

"What do you mean?" Brian asked.   
  
"Just what I said," Roger replied. "That was my last show."

"Right..." Brian said with caution. "For now."

Roger shook his head. "We're all of us odd, aren't we?" he asked. "You with your brain, and John with his heart and Freddie with his courage." He snickered as his own stupid joke. "Maybe I just need to get home to Kansas."

Brian narrowed his eyes at Roger's half-empty bottle. Was that two, or three? It didn’t matter. It wasn't enough to make their drummer at all philosophical. "Was Wizard of Oz the only thing on TV or something?"

"I'm gonna need another drink 'fore I tell you," Roger said. The barkeep nervously set down the pair of beers Brian ordered not two minutes earlier, and stared at Roger like he was an oncoming train.   
  
He had that effect on women.

"Just a whiskey and--" Roger started. Then he shook his head. "Shot of vodka. The good stuff, not that... Not that..." He struggled for a word for several seconds before coming up with "Not that bad stuff. That'll do it. You, too, Brian."

He met the bartender's eyes, shrugged, and nodded.

Two shotglasses. Straight vodka in each. Roger downed both of them, one right after the other.

Then he stood up and said, "I'm going to bed."

And that was the end of that.  
  


\---

  
Queen traveled together because they wanted to, not out of any obligation or necessity. By this point, they were well off enough that they could each take separate planes if they wanted, but, as Freddie said, _What would be the fun in that, darlings?_

But they were halfway back to England, with no further plans, and it might very well be the last time they were all on a plane together, if Roger wasn't being overly dramatic. Brian tended to take people seriously, even if the others--especially John--said he was gullible for being so trusting.

John could shove it.

Unless he needed a shoulder, then, of course, Brian would be there for him.

"It's not a bloody word!" John exclaimed. "Fred, look it up, would you?"

"Oh, bother. It's two-thirty in the morning, John! At two-thirty, everything is a word!"

"S-Y-Z-Y-G... And a blank tile that's a--"

"Another 'Y'," Brian said. "It's a planetary alignment."

"He'd know," Freddie said, shoving the Scrabble tiles off the board while John protested in weak, clipped syllables. "I'm going to sleep. You can argue over 'Sizzygigg' later."

Brian thought better of correcting the pronunciation. John's face was already glowing red.

"I'm gonna go check on Roger," Brian said.

John replied with profanity.

Nearer to the front of the plane, Roger sat curled up in his seat with a drink on his tray table and a few empty cups stacked precariously on one corner. Brian sat down, his knee bumping the tray, scattering the cups into Roger's lap.

"Every time I get to four," Roger muttered.

"Are you drunk?" Brian asked.

"I'm drink _ing."_ Roger shrugged. "Not drunk. Yet. There's a few more hours in the flight." He swirled the drink around in his cup, then threw his head back and finished what was left. "Ah, better. Y'know, I'm very pretty."

Brian arched his eyebrows. "Mm-hm."

"You ever wonder why?"

"Why you're pretty?" Brian asked. Roger's sky-blue eyes stared expectantly, waiting for an answer. And if he was being honest with himself, Brian did find Roger attractive in a strange sort of way. After all, he had a unique look to him like nothing anyone had ever seen... And chances were, that look couldn't ever be repeated. In the whole course of human history, there would only be one Roger Taylor. "Genes?"

"Genes!" Roger said, giving Brian's knee a painful slap. "Genes, he says, jokingly."

"I'm not. It's pretty much why _everyone_ looks the way they do, isn't it?"

"C'mon, Brian. You've got a guess. I know you do."

He did, but if it was wrong, Brian would feel awfully silly. But it couldn't be wrong, could it? "You've... uh. You've got those scars," he started. Glancing to the side, he saw Roger's half-lidded eyes and crooked smile still waiting for him to expand on that answer.

Brian thought he might as well just come right out and say it. "Were you a girl?"

"No," Roger answered, though the smile remained. "But I knew you knew something." Leaning back on his chair, he set the empty cup on the tray table. "I've got an extra chromosome in my twenty-third pair. It goes X-X-Y. Went into biology 'cuz of that, you know. Wanted to learn about it. Nothing you can do to change it but... There you go."

That made so much sense, Brian could only stare.

"You really don't know what life is 'til you're a boy who starts growing a chest at the age of fourteen," Roger said. Now he wouldn't meet Brian's eyes. "And the things they call you, Bri. I can't even... I don't even..."

"But it's nothing to be ashamed about--"

"No! I'm not!" Roger hushed himself, then looked back to make sure Freddie and John weren't paying attention. "I'm not. I think it's cool. I have more chromosomes than anyone else. It means I win."

"You can't _win_ at _chromosomes,"_ Brian snapped, though he only realized after he said it how petty it sounded.

Roger grinned. "Aw. Are you jealous that I have forty-seven and you only have forty-six?"

Brian sighed. "If you aren't embarrassed, then why--"   


He didn't have to finish the question. He already knew. To confirm, though, Roger gestured back at Freddie. "You know what he goes through, just 'cuz he wants to have sex with other guys?" Roger asked. "If the media got that, well..." He left the statement open-ended. Then he pulled a letter out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Brian.

It was from a newspaper. A tabloid. A tabloid with just enough credibility that to run the story would be devastating.

"I'm happy with who I am," Roger said. "I've known who I was and what I was from... Well, from forever. I'm a man. I'm happy." Shaking his head, he added, "But they'll have a field day when this runs, and I don't think we'll be able to get through it, Brian. I really don't. I'm sorry."

"How'd they...?"

"Get it? No idea. But it's right. My guess is, I said something to one of the girls I was with when I was drunk, and she thought she could get some money out of it."

"There's gotta be something you can do." Brian flipped over the letter. No contact information--just a name--and a date the story was going to run. Unprofessional as anything he'd ever seen!

Roger shook his head. "Let's just enjoy the flight home, huh? We'll have a drink. Toast to Queen, one more time."  
  


\---

  
Jet-lagged and weary, Brian waited on a specific dark corner in the cold. A street lamp flickered overhead, buzzed, guttered, and went out.

He checked his watch. How timely.

"Did you really need the sunglasses?" the shadow asked. "I picked this spot for a reason. It's never done me wrong."

It was a man's voice. Brian turned toward it. "I'm guessing you're--"

"No names," the shadow said. "Not 'cuz anyone's listening. I just think it's a lot more mysterious that way."

He had an American accent and a rough way about him, like he couldn't quite hold still. He rattled the keys in his pocket as he peered out from between a wide-brimmed hat and a popped collar. For someone who claimed he wasn't afraid of being discovered, he sure had himself covered.

"I wrote it all down," Brian said. He took a bundle of papers out of his pocket. The edges were curled and torn by this point, since he fidgeted with them for hours while he waited.

The shadow reached for the papers. Brian snapped them back. "You have to pull Roger's story."

"That was the deal," the man said. "Look, I know you're suspicious, but the truth is, what you got is more real. There's more scandal. It'll last longer."

"Even if it's not true?"

The shadow shrugged as Brian handed him the bundle. "Look, I don't always necessarily deal in truth." He shuffled the papers, skimming them, his smile growing as his eyes settled on the gritty details. All of them. Every single one Brian could remember. "Is it?"

After a moment, Brian nodded.

"Well, that's even better, then," the man said.

"There's conditions," Brian said. "You kill the story on Roger--"

"Yes, yes, I know."

"If you ever run it, I'll take us both down," Brian said. "I won't even look back. I'll tell the whole thing."

"Settle down," the shadow hissed. "Geez. Look, this Taylor thing is too sciencey. It's got appeal, but it's confusing. No one knows what this even is. It's a novelty. And he's not gonna give me updates like you are. Look. Brian."

"I thought you said 'no names.'"

"Whatever. Listen. If I screw myself, I don't get any money. That's what I'm here for. Money. I want to break juicy stories. I ain't gonna do anything to change that." He rolled the bundle into a tube and thrust it into a pocket. "Not to add insult to injury, but a photo--if it's true and all--would make this story so much sweeter. Would mean I don't have to edit nothin'..."

Steeling himself, Brian took a deep breath and pulled the last piece of the puzzle out of his sleeve. "Have your photographer here," he said. "The time's there, too, so..."

The shadow practically ripped the card out of Brian's hand, eagerly casting his eyes over the information. "Oh, don't worry. I won't be late."

"I was going to say ' _don't be seen.'_ "

"That, too." The card went into the pocket with the rest of the story. "Look, I gotta ask, why are you doin' all this? You stand to lose just as much as Taylor."

"Does it matter?" Brian was already turning away, but the man followed him.

"Not really, but indulge my curiosity anyway."

 _Fine,_ Brian thought. He didn't intend to make this a moral lesson, but if Dan Fauxes of the Setting Sun wanted a quote for his exclusive story, he'd have it. "It's because _I_ messed up, but Roger didn't do anything wrong."  
  


\---

  
Brian was rich enough, so he easily could have afforded a house. But moving into an apartment seemed to lend credibility to the whole thing, at least as far as he was concerned.

It was as sterile as a hospital, without pictures on the walls or the homey touches that would have made it comfortable. At least he couldn't complain about the view. He lived so high up, and there were so many windows, that he could see for kilometers.

Sometimes he'd stare northward, where _she_ lived.

Divorce was a messy affair, and it took its toll on them both. Sometimes he thought that by gazing off in her direction, she'd feel just a little better. Just a little safer. He still loved her.

She hated him. She had every right to.

All he wanted to do was sleep.

Seconds after flopping down on the couch, he heard a knock at his door, which was odd, considering the affluence of his accommodations. No one just knocked on the door of a resident of this apartment complex.   
  
He thought of calling security for all of half a second, but Brian already knew who it was. Struggling to his feet while ignoring the weariness trying to drag him down, he slogged to the door. As soon as it opened the minutest crack, Roger barged his way in.

"How'd you get in?" Brian asked, his voice flat. He didn't really care.

"I shit you not," Roger said. "One of the guards at the door pointed at me and goes..." He trailed off, dramatically pointing at Brian. "'That's Roger-Fucking-Taylor.' After that, I just kinda wandered toward the elevators and. You know. Up. Way up. I guess I'm supposed to say something like, 'nice place you got' or somethin'." He made his way over to the window bay, which stretched all the way from floor to ceiling, and threw open the curtains.

An offensive volume of sunlight streamed in. Brian shielded his eyes. "Roger, _really..._ "

"I did the math," Roger said. "They didn't run the article on me, but the sure as hell ran yours. And, I mean, I know I’m not great at math, but I can add two and two together."

"Yeah? And what answer do you get?"

"Five. Of course. And thanks for the setup."

Brian nodded, flopping back down onto the couch, his arm over his eyes. "Anything for you, Rog."

"That's exactly the problem, isn't it?" Roger said, sitting down next to Brian. "This isn't any better. It's just passed the bad shit to someone else. I coulda got through it, Bri. You know me."

"I just feel like you should be able to tell the world on your own terms," Brian said. "When you're ready. _If_ you're ever ready. And, look, I was ready for my affair to end, so... So this was just convenient. They were going to catch me anyway."

Roger was quiet for a while, then he said, "Thanks."

Brian smiled. It was a bittersweet ending, but at least it worked out for the best. "Besides," he said. "I couldn't let you have even _more_ glory. You've already got the forty-seven chromosomes."

"Mm-hm," Roger laughed. "See? I knew you were jealous."


End file.
